


Don't Forget, I Existed

by rsheinse



Category: 20th Century CE RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28069800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsheinse/pseuds/rsheinse
Comments: 18
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

You know when you wake up in the morning, at first thought you’re feeling incredibly peaceful, happy the sun is, at last, streaming through your blinds in January. Then you sober up and think; this is a suspiciously calm morning? This is also the point where you realize your alarm hasn’t gone off; you’ve overslept.

This is my morning. January 5th, 2021. 

I’ll have you know that I’ve just moved into my first apartment, just a few months ago. I’m 20 years old, born in the year 2001. I have a fairly normal life; a close circle of friends, a decent job, and supportive parents. Nothing odd so far, right? Ah, let me get to it in detail. 

See, what struck me a few hours ago wasn’t that my alarm hadn’t gone off, but more so where my phone was. I imagined I’d forgot to set the alarm the previous day, so that was something I shrugged off. My phone, however, was not where I’d placed it.

On a stressful morning, you eventually say ‘fuck it’ and get going, with or without missing necessities. You just don’t have the time.

So that’s what I did. I rushed out the door, locked it with the keys I still had, thankfully, and here’s another fucked up part; my car’s gone. It wasn’t where I parked it, in my spot - my assigned spot, in the neighborhood parking lot. 

This had even had me laughing because, was this a fucking joke? I walked up to where I’d left my car 12 hours prior, stopped in the middle of the outlined rectangle, and just stared. I blinked, stared, did a 360 spin as if it’d magically appear - yet, no car. I noticed another thing that was off; every other car was old and I didn’t recognize them as my neighbors. Older model Hondas, Toyotas, Jeeps, you name it.

At the time, I didn’t think it was a big deal. Now I do. Frankly, I’m scared shitless.

I’m at a coffee shop, writing this down so I know it’s real. I keep pinching my arm to check if I’m awake or not. I’m still hoping it’s a dream but I’m dreading the upcoming bruises on my arm that will confirm it’s not.

Details. I need to write down the details. Here are some; I walked back inside to turn my whole apartment upside down in search of my phone. I didn’t find it. Wanna know something else? I didn’t find my computer, and my TV was gone. At that point, I was freaking out thinking someone had broken into my apartment while I was asleep and taken my stuff, and in that case, also concluding why my car was gone.

As calm as possible, I went to knock on my neighbor’s doors. No answer, until three doors down. I knew for sure that there’s where that old man lives, but instead, an elderly lady opened.  
I asked if I could, for a few minutes, borrow her phone to make a few quick phone calls. She let me in and without blinking, I spotted the phone and I dialed my parent’s number. It wasn’t odd that her phone was an older house phone; she was, in fact, elderly. Elderly people still have those, right?

“The number you're trying to reach is not in service.’’

Those are the words I kept hearing over and over, no matter how many times I called or double-checked the numbers. The number wasn’t wrong. Not in the wrong order nor the wrong amount.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to stabilize my shattering reality, dialing another number. My friend Kat. Do I even need to tell you where I ended up dialing that number? 

Then in the middle of my crippling anxiety and profoundly confused state of mind, I dialed my boss’s number. I needed to tell her I’d be late. I can’t get fired - I have bills to pay.

Yet again, the number wasn’t in service.

Hands trembling, almost dropping the receiver to the floor due to slippery palms, I thanked the old lady, excused myself, and walked out. I didn’t even hear what she said to me. I could barely even register I was walking, putting one foot in front of the other. I was out.

More details; instead of walking back to my apartment, I headed straight for the bus stop to go into town. I have to notify you that this was at 8:30 in the morning, and I’d just woken up. I was sure my hair was still in a bird’s nest and I looked like a crazy person. Words can’t describe how disorientated I was. 

The bus came and I stepped on. Holding onto the straps of my backpack as if to hold on tight to my world as I knew it, I didn’t bother taking a seat. Some people side-glanced me, some didn’t.  
I had to hold on as the driver picked up speed, and I accidentally bumped into a person. 

Excusing myself, I noticed the freestyle in his hand. 

Yes, correct; a freestyle. Those music devices that played CD’s back in the 80s and 90s. Again, I wasn’t alarmed. I had other things to worry about.

I think I have to mention where I live; I’m from a small town in the state of Minnesota. It’s exactly what you imagine a small town would be; vacant, abandoned, full of small-minded folks, and boring to death. I didn’t recognize the freestyle-kid, and I’d never, ever, seen him around, yet we seemed to be the same age.

I see my stop up ahead and listen to this; as I’m about to jump off, close to where my parents’ street is, I glance down at this one guy’s newspaper.

The date on the newspaper said January 5th, 1999. Or more accurately, says. It’s a miracle I managed to stay upright on my feet.

This is where we’re at. I’m currently existing in a world where I’m not yet born. My parents don’t even know me. Hell, I bet they haven’t even thought of me yet. Why? They met in December 1999 at a New Year’s Eve party.

I did bring myself to walk by my parents’ house. 

They’re not living there. The name on the mailbox said Coleman. My last name is not Coleman.

I’m trying not to look too suspicious as I write this, hands still shaking and tears stubbornly watering my eyes. For the first hour, I hid in a bathroom stall, bawling my eyes out. I had to silence the convulsive sobbing with a hand over my mouth any time someone walked inside the ladies’ restroom.

You’re probably thinking; the newspaper could’ve been a prank, or I saw the wrong numbers.   
I thought so too, at first, even resisting the temptation to smile as I got off the bus. But trust me - I’ve asked. And asked, and asked again. Every time I asked, I received a funny look - you know, that look people give the main character in a sci-fi movie when they ask what year it is.

I’ve heard people describe their life-shattering experiences, losing a partner, a friend, or a parent. Feeling as if they’ve been pushed to the ground and beaten with a bat, one bad experience after the other just railing on. My question is; what the fuck do you call this? 

I’m scared. I’m absolutely terrified. Why am I here? Technically, I don’t even exist. I don’t know anyone. I don’t have parents nor friends. My friends’ are not born yet.

I think I’ve been here for too long, acting too weird. The barista’s glancing at me from time to time. Maybe I’m just paranoid, imagining things? I don’t have anyone to turn to. If I tell anyone I’m from 2021, they’ll put me in a mental ward. 

Where do I go from here? What do I do? Do I have any money? Why do I still have my apartment? Ironically, the speakers start taunting me with the tunes of the song playing; Today by The Smashing Pumpkins.

Today is definitely not the greatest day I’ve ever known.

Suddenly, my heart drops - that sucking feeling you get when missing a step on the stairs or can’t find your phone in your pocket. 

The Smashing Pumpkins. A name pops into my head. 

Dylan. Dylan Klebold. 

Eyes widening and heart drumming my ears, I realize what year I’m in, and what month. 

America’s worst school shooting hasn’t happened yet - the one case I’ve studied to the core since I was 16.

It’s like my face has its own pulse, my heart beating so hard it physically hurts. I glance at the barista again and I meet her narrowed eyes before she averts them. She’s definitely staring.

Without another thought, I grab my notebook, shove it inside my backpack, and hurl out the door. From one thought to another, my parents’ faces flash by inside my head again. To be cliché, my whole life’s currently flashing before my eyes. 

I’m desperately trying to walk and act normal but as I wander down the street, I remember that no one knows me here. It’s 1999; I’m not born. No one has ever seen my face; I don’t look like anyone they’ve ever seen. Then reality crashes over me again like a bucket of water, along with all the millions of questions that both infuriates me and shatters my heart into pieces; what am I doing here and why? Why me? And how? How do I get back, who do I talk to, what do I do? 

Spotting a side street up ahead, I speed up the pace and take a sharp turn around the corner, and to my relief, my eyes find a dumpster to hide behind. Giving in to my weak legs, I crash down to sit on the dirty, cold ground. The missing piece of not being able to pick up the phone and call or text someone aches gravely. 

Short attacks of laughter break the sobbing - I’m going insane. How can you be that emotionally attached to an electronic device that it almost feels equivalent to a pacifier? 

I suddenly feel strong hate towards everything. The state I’m in and why I am where I am. The tears stop rolling and anger replaces it. To be fair I’m fed up with crying; how has that helped me the past six hours? Jack shit.

Drying my face with my damp sleeve, I struggle to stand to my feet again. My butt is cold, my clothes are dirty and I don’t think I’ve felt worse in my life. Stupid, privileged idiot; never knew pain until now. Self-loathing heightens along with every other feeling that snatches me like a whip as I try to come to my senses. As much as I know I have to gather myself, I also want to sit back down on the cold, hard ground and cry myself to the point of exhaustion.

‘’I have to stop feeling bad for myself, I have to stop feeling bad for myself,’’ I whisper into my hand cupped over my mouth, pulling myself together, straighten my back and again wipe my cheeks. 

I know I need to find a mirror of some sort. There’s no way I can look even the slightest sane right now. The reflection in the huge glass windows of a shop does the job of mortifying me just great; my hair is far from cute and my eyes are swollen from the nonstop crying. No wonder the barista was staring; I look homeless.

Another heart-dropping, random realization hits me; Eric and Dylan are alive. Most likely in class, going about their day.

To the person reading - I can understand how this thought might seem absolutely irrational. Why would she think of two random teenage dudes in the midst of being thrown back 22 years in time, ripped away from anything she knows to be real?

Well, you see, because, in the middle of every irrational aspect of it, it’s absolutely rational. Something I know; something that grounds me. A place to start. 

Now, another question might surface; wouldn’t the most rational thing be contacting family or friends? 

How could I? What do I say? ‘’Wassup you guys, it’s just your unborn daughter calling to let y’all know I need some help, would you mind?’’

There’s no way. I could probably try once or twice, and then they’d call the cops. Send me to jail.  
Calling my future grandparents would be even worse. What do I do? Lure them into inviting me into their house and befriend them? And what friends are there to talk about? The sperm cells swimming around in their father’s balls? There’s just no way.

Shifting my mind to autopilot mode, I head to the nearest gas station to clean myself up in the bathroom, using my fingers to brush out the nest, and ease the swelling with cold water. After a good fifteen minutes, I look decent to face the public again. Now I can easily walk up to someone and ask for directions to the nearest travel agency without them cowering in fear by the sight of me.

First, I’ll have to do something I’m dreading; go back to my apartment. I need money to pay for tickets. My birthday was two months ago, and I know I have a birthday card laying around somewhere with money still attached to it. From my grandparents. 

I take a sharp, unsteady breath as they come to mind. If I’m here now, where am I in 2021?   
By now, I must be reported missing. As much as I’m here, I’m also not there. On the verge of tears again, I shut that compartment of my brain down.

The bus ride back is dull. I’m numb to my surroundings. The sheer fact that I’m in another decade doesn’t phase me one bit. I hate it here. I want to go home.

Stepping off the bus, I try to ignore looking at my apartment building in the distance. A car’s parked in my spot now, and I hate it too. Kicking at pebbles on the ground as I get closer, a person in the corner of my eye causes me to look up and I see a face so familiar to my own that my heart almost stops - my mother. My mother in flesh and blood, twenty years less wrinkly. 

My feet are frozen to the ground as my heart pounds against my ribs.

Light-headed and nauseous, I come back from a state of trance, only to realize she’s looking at me with a frown as she’s on her way to a car. Her car, parked in my spot.

I start to move on autopilot again to escape the situation, cold sweats creeping down my back. I skit around the corner to the building and don’t stop until I’ve reached the backyard where I’m hidden and with an unstoppable reflex, I throw up in a bush.

I sit on the ground for twenty minutes after that. Again. The sun rays have broken through behind the clouds again, adding to the pounding headache and it’s annoying me to no end. Putting two and two together, this meant she was the one living in my apartment. Why had she never mentioned this when I moved in? 

On wobbly legs, I stand up and peeking around the corner, the car’s gone. She left. Good.

Quick movements take me up the stairs even though my knees are about to buckle. I hurry past the three doors before mine, stopping right outside, and rip the keys out of my pocket. They fit. They fucking fit. 

Cracking the door open just enough to peer inside, I recognize it as I left it. The carpet in the foyer, same furniture, same floors, and wall paint.

My head is spinning. I can’t wrap my head around any of this. None of this is the slightest scientifically possible. Rushing around like a scared rabbit, I wreck through the closet to find none of my clothes. This clearly wasn’t my apartment from the start when I woke up the first time. It never was.

The only gut-wrenching thing I recognize is the scent of a perfume lingering in the air. It’s my Mom’s. Uncontrollable sobs convulse out of me as I rip random pieces of clothing off the hangers to grab with me. Moving from room to room, I search everywhere I can for money. Drawers, jewelry boxes, cabinets.

What I manage to find and leave running with are 230 dollars and the backpack stuffed with my 30-year-old mother's clothing. That’s it. I don’t glance back once.

Welcome to the first part of my journey. My mission is now to get to Colorado. To be bluntly honest, I have absolutely no clue what I’m going to do there. And you know what? That adds nicely to the rest of my current hell.


	2. Chapter 2

I landed at Denver International around two hours ago. I’m still here, loitering, attempting to take in the scene around me; no one wearing a mask, no restrictions, no social distancing. But most noticeably - no one scrolling their phone.

A year of pandemic outbreak gets you used to crazy shit, fast, but nothing prepared me for this. I’m in a century I’ve wished to go back to a million times, and I know others do, too. It’s a thing you casually say, or a thing I would say because you know it’ll never happen. It could never possibly become reality yet here I am. 

I had McDonald’s earlier, I need to save the few dollars I have. Tickets here took a big bite of it. I have yet to go fully deranged, which is great news for someone in my situation. 

Glancing at people who pass me by, I’m reminded I know so much that they don’t. I know every awful thing that’s going to happen in the world - every tragedy, every disaster. Just now I’m realizing I can also choose to prevent them. I get to have a choice. I own that advantage. It’s almost overwhelming and it’s making the cold sweats come back with full force.

I sit down at a bench and hold the backpack pressed to my chest. Every time I hug it tighter, my mother’s perfume streams through the zipper, giving me a gut punch. I want to allow myself to have a meltdown, and I’ve wanted to the whole day but my brain is strategically altering my mental condition.

The fact that I’m actively aware that my brain can’t understand what’s going on makes it physically hurt everywhere. Even forming that sentence is a struggle. Under normal circumstances, I’d even call it comical. 

Hell must be just like this. Maybe that’s it - I died and went to hell. There’s no other way to make sense of it. At least the crying has stopped, for now. My tear canals must be dried up.

A family’s loud conversation behind me scatters my thoughts. Automatically, I move aside a few seats to keep six feet apart - the boy notices and gives me a frown. I snort and loosen my shoulders. Right, this isn’t 2021. No pandemic.

Peeking at the family, I get emotional. They're happy, probably on their way somewhere on vacation, not a single worry. A normal day. They're laughing and joking, and I sink further and further down where I sit until I'm forced to stand to my feet and flee out of there.

I leave the airport. The security guards had started to take notice of me and spending more time in there would get me arrested. They'd probably suspect me for a drug dealer. 

I've never been to Denver. The only time I've ever left Minnesota is when visiting my aunt and uncle in North Dakota. That's another problem - I feel so tiny and lost. As if I'm a twelve-year-old lost child. I've always considered myself a confident person. Turns out the level of that confidence depends on the situation, not age, as I thought. Funny how fragile our sense of ground is - just the tiniest shatter and we're done for it.

I haven't told you a lot about myself. I'm just a girl. People usually tell me I'm funny and smart, that I know my way with things, especially for my age. I've had boyfriends. I have good friends and great parents, but no siblings. One of my biggest interests is true crime. For as long as I can remember, the morbid has fascinated me. Though if you saw me on the street, you'd never be able to guess - I'm as innocent-looking as a puppy, and I'm always smiling around people, even when I feel like punching a hole through a wall. 

I've already mentioned Eric and Dylan. Yes, Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold. The Columbine school shooters. I've studied them for a long time, and now I'm here. How do I begin to explain how unreal this is? I'm here, and they're alive. At this time, they're not yet school shooters - they're just two teenage boys. If thinking about that makes you dizzy, imagine how I'm feeling.

What do I do next? I need to get into town, Denver City. From there, I’ll have to do a whole lot of thinking. A good idea would be to get a room somewhere. A cheap motel would do for now.

How on earth do I get more money? I don’t have anything. If I look for a job, how do I prove my identity? I did bring my wallet and my driver’s license. But how do I explain the issue date? Or the expiration date? 

My feet are aching as I step out of the car. I pay the driver and thank him before continuing down the street. It’s getting dark, it's 5:34 PM. 

Exhaling a large cloud of fog, I tighten my jacket around my body, hugging myself. I pass coffee shop after coffee shop without paying them any mind, until I notice something different - an internet café. My heart quickens as I think about it; I could log onto one of the computers, try sending some emails, and see if they- who am I kidding. A person’s email whose not born yet could never work. But if time travel works, exactly where does mother nature draw the line?

I enter the café and have a quick look around before I approach one of the computers. The warmth here is soothing to my cold skin and mind, and I eventually sit down by a computer and take off my jacket. The backpack I keep between my legs - tightly secured.

“Excuse me, you have to pay before I can assign you a computer - miss,’’

Darting my eyes in the direction the voice is coming from, I spot a guy staring at me with a tilted head, probably annoyed he has to deal with another stupid customer. 

“I-I’m sorry.’’ My voice breaks. This is the first time I’ve heard myself speak in hours and I sound pathetic. “How do I-’’

‘’I’ll help you if you’ll just come right here - that one computer’s 10 dollars an hour. You wanna keep it or do you wanna change to another one?’’

Standing to my feet, my stomach hurts as he mentions the price. I approach the counter and the dude’s wearing a faint frown, eyeing me up and down. I feel my face drain of color; what if I look completely out of fashion, wearing something that is way too modern for this time? 

Discreetly, I glance down at my clothes, shortly after letting go of my breath; bootcut jeans, a plaid shirt, and vans. Nothing suspicious, nothing giving me away.

“Um, I’ll take the one I chose,’’ I say, glancing back.

“Alright. For how many hours?’’ 

“Uh- one?’’

Bent over the counter, looking up from the notepad, he peers at me for a second. “Okidoki,’’ He straightens his back and steps to the cashier, unmistakably evaluating me again with a glance. 

“That’ll be 10 dollars.’’

I try to smile and feel my cheeks go red before I carefully place the backpack on the counter to reach for money. I hand them over as he locks eyes with me, smiling pensively. “Happy browsing.’’

Turning on my heel so he can’t see me, walking back to sit, I let my frown show over how weird he acted. I’ll definitely not be dragging in this place. Happy browsing? Allow me to chuckle. God, this really is another time and place.

Everything takes forever to load. It’s making noises I’ve never heard a computer make before and the fat, grey screen is frying my eyes. For a minute, I can feel a tickling sensation on my forehead and as I reach my hand out to touch the screen, I get struck by a static shock. I jump up and wince away, quickly darting my eyes around to make sure no one saw.

When I’m finally logged in, I get straight to the hunt for a search browser. Netscape? Opera? Finally, I recognize the Internet Explorer icon and double-click it. Everything on the screen is grey and outdated - at least to me. 

What do I do now? Typing in the address for Hotmail, the results pop up at decent speed. MSN Hotmail, AOL, Yahoo. Shrugging, I decide for MSN Hotmail and as I wait for the web page to load, I can feel a presence behind me. 

Looking over my shoulder, my heart almost jumps out of my chest as I see the same dude standing behind me, arms crossed over his chest.

“I wasn’t sure you’d be able to figure out how to log on,’’

My face transforms into a slight grimace. “Sorry?’’

He looks as confused as I feel, shifting his stance a bit. 

“The computer. I wasn’t sure you knew how to-’’ He shuts himself up and swallows as I continue to bury my eyes in his, eyebrows slipping further and further up my forehead.

“But I see you managed just fine.’’ With a flighty smile, he turns and walks off a little beaten down, a few inches of male pride shorter.

Jesus Christ, this is so odd. Why wouldn’t I be able to- oh wait, I’m a girl. Girls barely used computers back in the day. I see. Even though it makes sense, I snort and look back at the screen, now fully loaded and ready for me to punch in some letters.

_Email: syke2001@hotmail.com  
Password: lobstersarentreduntiltheyredead_

_Enter._

__

The email address is not in use.

I can physically feel my heart catapult out of my chest and crash to the floor. I double-checked the spelling; there were no mistakes made. This is 1999 and my email address doesn’t exist, because I don’t exist.

Every single cell in my body is working its fullest for me to not slip off the chair and collapse in a tantrum on the floor. It’s funny how it took all of this for me to realize I’m screwed - there’s nothing. I have nothing. 

Tensing my jaw to the point where it hurts my teeth, I blink away tears that threaten to expose my desolation. Emotions are boiling up in my chest; anger, hurt, confusion, sadness. Goosebumps cripples my skin, triggering my tear canals even further. 

I stand up in a flash, causing the chair to shoot back dramatically. Snatching my backpack from the floor, I don’t even care to put on my jacket before rushing out the door and not even twenty feet away down the street, the guy from the cafe yells something I’m not able nor willing to hear.

I found a motel in Littleton. By West Jefferson Ave - five kilometers away from Columbine High School to be exact. My heart has yet to stop fluttering by the thought. 

Nothing is fair. Life right now feels so far from fair that I have, for the first time in my life, thought about ending it. At the same time, a voice in my head is telling me to grant this, not waste it. 

A million scientists would kill to be in my shoes - why throw that away? Einstein didn't die for me to just end it. 

Say I do kill myself, wouldn’t there be a possibility I’ll end up back home? Then again, what if I don't? What if, when I die here, I'll never be born? Be erased from existence.

Sitting in swallowing darkness, on the creaky bed, I close my eyes, watching my thoughts play out like movie scenes and I've had enough. I'm feeling drowsy and I know my brain is telling me to knock it off; take a hike, go to sleep. In a normal sense, I'm aware this thinking isn't rational. I would never consider suicide back home, ever. So why make it a potential outcome now?

I decide to let the demons in my head roam free, just for tonight. However, I manage to shut them out with sleep within an hour.

All is set - tomorrow they'll be gone.

***

I let a thin glimpse of light break my slumber as I squint my eyes open. The room’s quiet, and so is my head. I bet you’re thinking my first thought should be ‘where the hell am I!’ 

It’s not.

I know exactly where I am, and the unfamiliarity is laughing me in the face. The whole scene of this room doesn’t add up in my head - it looks old yet so unused. The wood furniture I’d say is over 20 years old, but I can swear I can almost smell the pine. In my sleepy state, I sweep my hand for my phone beside me until reality sets in again and I curl into a ball, hugging my legs. 

I stay like that for a few minutes, until the sun rays find my face through the blinds, moderating me. The more I pay attention, the more I tune into my surroundings; highway buzzing, some kids playing in the distance, birds chirping, the clock ticking on the nightstand.

I pull myself together and stand to my feet. Naked and shuddering, I step inside the shower for a quick warm rinse. I have the motel towels, but I don’t have anything else. No shampoo, no deodorant. I’ll need to find a dollar store, and a thrift shop. The clothes I wore yesterday are still dirty.

Hair fixed in a ponytail, I tiptoe out of the bathroom and crouch down by my backpack. I think I can rationalize what’s keeping my sanity at bay so far - my mother’s perfume. As soon as I open the zipper, it fills the whole room. And just like that, my heart is pounding.

I lose the stability in my ankles and thud down on my butt, on the verge of hyperventilation as I turn the backpack upside down, spreading the clothes out on the carpet. A pair of jeans, a white blouse, two black t-shirts, and a plaid - that’s all I managed to grab.

I exchange my old plaid for my mom’s, stopping for a second to throw my arms around myself before I pull on the jeans. I inhale the smell of the shirt as if to scorch it into my memory, make it reside there. It’s the closest to home I can get.

Today is January 6. Twenty-two years back in time, that could be any day - a Saturday, a Monday - I have no idea, and I can’t go back in my phone’s calendar to check either. Time said 10:35 when I left, so no matter the day, the stores should be open.

Reaching the end of the parking lot, I turn right towards the intersection. I almost cower when cars drive by, scared they’ll know or see that I’m not from here. Scared that it could be someone I know - well, not personally - but whom I know of. Their parents, their friends.

My heart is pounding again, just from walking these streets - in the year 1999. Wouldn’t you be shitting bricks too?

I eventually found a person to ask for directions - a lady in her 60s. She offered to drive me to the nearest Dollar Tree, and well - I didn’t refuse. It turned out to be a whole shopping center and there’s even a thrift shop. Jackpot. Oh, and January 6 is a Wednesday.

Starting with Dollar Tree, I go from aisle to aisle, chucking down what I need in a basket. The speakers are reminding me of the decade I’m in, Wonderwall by Oasis softly playing. This time, it almost brings a vague smile to my lips as I think about it, and I know that’s only because I’m preoccupied.

I pay and head out, 10 dollars less wealthy. I stop by Subway to buy breakfast before I do anything else. I don’t think I remember ever being this hungry in my whole life. This is truly the life of a homeless person - minus the motel room and 150 dollars remaining.

After devouring the food and chugging down a coffee, some sense is coming back to me. Blood sugar stabilizing and reality somewhat accepted, I stare through the window at the snow-covered mountain bank in the distance. Today is not too cold even though the whole town is painted white. It’s beautiful here.

In relation to the school, I can’t decide how far away I am. What I can decide, though, is the way my gut turns as soon as either of them enters my mind, the way the hairs stand up in the back of my neck. I never contemplated how intimidating this feeling would be in real life - until now. 

Imagining standing face to face with Eric or Dylan upright terrifies me. I’m older than them but then again, I’m not. I’m not even a considered person at this point in the universe. 

As my thinking slides onto the path that they are already in possession of the guns they used to kill on April 20, my brain overheats and I have to grab my things and leave. 

What the hell was I thinking?! How am I ever going to stop this? People will never understand, they don’t have the slightest clue of how hard this is. It was so easy to sit there - 22 years from now - and praise about how I’d save them, and be their friend. It’s never that easy and now I have proof. The hindsight is suffocating me.

Alright, breathe.

I’m thinking about walking by the school later, but I’m afraid I’ll faint in the middle of the street.  
I keep the thought lingering as I pace around inside the thrift shop. I end up finding a good jacket, and it manages to skyrocket my mood for the first time in several hours, at least for a few seconds; exiting the shop, I spot something that feels like a blow to the head. 

It’s not the car in itself; it’s the person stepping out of it - Sue Klebold.

I feel as if a snare tightens around my neck and I have to support myself against the brick wall, almost dropping the bags to the ground. I know my face is drained at this point. I have to get out of here. I cannot make a scene. She can’t see me.

A dark frame closes in around my vision and I hiss profanities under my breath until someone calls out. 

“Miss,’’ 

To my horror, I know the voice well. She’s spotted me.

“Miss- are you alright?’’ Then, a soft hand on my shoulder, and I'm forced to face her.

“Oh- I,’’ I’m out of breath, in frantic search of someplace to sit. “I’m okay,’’

Deep worry has creased Sue’s youthful face as she checks me from head to toe. “Sweetie, you’re pale as a ghost - come, let me help you sit down,’’ She tells her female company to go get water and something to eat and I feel ashamed beyond belief as she assists me in walking five feet to a bench.

“Do you want me to call for an ambulance?’’ 

I’m fast to shake my head no and she sits down with me, a firm grip around my arm. 

“Are you entirely sure?’’

“Yes, ma’am. I’m so sorry- this is so mortifying,’’

“Not at all!- oh dear, not at all. You looked well on your way to fainting. Are you taking any medications?’’ 

“No- I’m probably just dehydrated-’’

“Here comes my co-worker with some water for you,’’

I look up to see a bottle of water reached out to me along with a banana. Sue’s quick to grab and peel open the banana for me so I can have sips of the water.

This is so bizarre. Out of all the people in the population of Littleton, Sue freaking Klebold is the one to be at this shopping center, on this date, at this time. Not only that; out of all people, I spot her, and she spots me.

Her co-worker seems to be equally filled with worry as she leans in to rub me comfortingly on the arm. Sue sits close to support me but eventually allows me some space. Chewing down the banana takes an eternity.

“How are you feeling? You got some color back in your cheeks-’’ She says with a somewhat cheerful tone and as I glance at her, I see her smiling. I’m quick to avert my eyes, getting way too nervous when she locks her kind brown ones in mine.

“Sounds promising,’’ I try to yuck it up and let go of a shy chuckle, giving her co-worker an assuring glance as well. “Thank you both for your help- the water and the banana-’’

“Of course,’’ They synchronize and both smile at me. “Where do you live? Do you want a ride home? Do you have anyone that can look after you? You should let your parents know.’’

Sue’s questions keep railing on and I grow anxious that she’ll insist on driving me.

“Actually my dad will be here to pick me up in a couple of minutes - do you have the time?’’ It tugs at the heartstrings to mention Dad.

They both check their wristwatch but Sue is the one to break it to me first. 12:15. Damn. I’ve probably wasted 15 minutes of her and her co-worker’s lunch. My cheeks burn hot with shame.

It takes some effort, but I manage to convince them I’ll be fine, and as quick as this all happened, they’re gone. 

I can’t believe what just happened. My legs feel weaker than ever when I stand up and I can’t decide if it’s from the aftermath of almost blacking out or the fact that I’ve had an actual encounter with Dylan Klebold’s mother. 

Bags held tightly in my hand, I stride away faster than I should. I check to see if the backpack is still on my back, even though I’ve felt the weight of it the whole time. Inside it is the water bottle which I’ll probably be keeping for a long time. However, a thought breaks the high; if I ever manage to befriend Dylan, Sue will know who I am. That is if I ever meet her again, obviously.

Without the slightest clue to where I’m heading, I let the anxiety lead me on my way through unknown neighborhoods, street after street. I don’t know how or when, but I eventually found the motel, exhausted and starving. Ordering a pizza was my cheapest option, which kickstarted another whirlwind of thinking. 

That’s how I’ll do it. That’s how I’ll make myself known by them - go to their workplace. 

Bulletproof.


	3. Chapter 3

It takes me until Friday to make a decision. 

I’m bracing myself, mustering up the courage for something I thought I would never even think - tomorrow I'll seek them out, first encounter - Eric and Dylan. Thinking about it gives me instant nausea.

My plan is solid as a piece of paper; I will enter Blackjacks, order a pizza, and act normal. 

I’m considering downing shots before I do, but that'd be a wuss move. I have no idea which one of them is working tomorrow night. That'll be a surprise. Although, I wonder if I'm even capable of feeling the emotion of surprise anymore. Waking up in 1999 should be close to the matriarchy of all surprises, right? 

A possibility is that neither of them is working. Then I'll have to reschedule and replay other potentially disastrous outcomes of me meeting one of them. For hours on end, in other scenarios and settings.

I recall their diversion program being canceled in January, or well, this month. This week even. And I remember reading that both their families had dinner together in February, to celebrate the early release. Sue wrote about that in her book - the book I have the power to make sure is never written. It doesn't have to.

I squeeze my eyes shut to try and remember more of Eric's journal entries and noted events in his calendar, but January is completely blank. Eric didn’t write a word in January. Not a single scribbled word until the first week of April.

If I have any chance of stopping this, I need to get going. Now. No more fainting or fooling around. The fact that Sue saved me from crashing to the ground Wednesday has yet to make sense. It feels like a dream - for sure I dreamt that! 

Then I look at the water bottle and know I didn’t.

I have three months, and I can imagine that's nothing compared to what they've been through. It's such a small amount of time to even try repairing someone so emotionally damaged. Nowhere near enough.

Another thing I have to decide is; who do I go for first? Which one of them do I target? Do I let fate decide? The one working tomorrow night is the one I choose. That's the way it'll have to be. 

Strategically, I should start with Dylan, no matter what. It was his idea from the start - NBK.

I’ve spent most hours inside my room since Wednesday. Seeing Sue spooked me enough to keep me barricaded. The only time I’ve left was to get more food - a bit healthier this time. Pizza is good but too much would give anyone a bellyache. I need to decide what I’m going to order tomorrow; if Eric’s working, do I get his attention by ordering his favorite pizza, like a clown, or do I… god, this is keeping my head spinning non-stop. I don’t even think I understand how absurd this is yet. What if I faint again? If seeing Sue made me faint then what damage is this going to do? 

Nibbling on my bottom lip anxiously, I stand to my feet, allowing myself to pace back and forth. 

I close my eyes again, picturing scene after scene. I create a mental image of Eric, his face close enough to easily reach out and touch. Snapping my eyes open, I laugh out loud, shaking my head.

“This is not happening - it’s not happening! This isn’t real!’’ Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I stop and evaluate myself and the level of insanity I’ve reached so far. I look way better than I did Tuesday - hair no longer in a tangled mess even though I look as tired as I feel. As you can imagine, I’m not getting much quality sleep. I have yet to sleep throughout a whole night without catapulting awake in cold sweats.

I thud down on the foot of the inflexible mattress again, zoning out as I think about what to say.

“Hi, I’d like to order a… no,’’ I clear my throat, straighten my back and try a smile in the mirror. “Hey, um - I’d like to order… fuck- no! Goddamn it!’’

“Sup, um I- oh my god!’’ I collapse on my back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Then something inside me clicks. 

Pretend you’re seeing your friends - pretend it’s Kat. Be open, and causal. Be you.

My nose keeps up a familiar tingle until I can’t fight back anymore. My vision clears as I blink the tears away, letting them roll down the sides of my temples. 

I don’t remember when, but I fell asleep - exhausted and fully clothed.

**

It’s Saturday - 5:39 PM.

My hands are trembling. I’m sweating bullets and my heart’s just about ready to break my ribs.

“So- are you here visiting?’’ The driver’s words breaking the silence feel like a stun gun to my exposed nerves, and he glances at me through the rearview mirror. 

“Uh- yeah. Meeting some friends for pizza tonight.’’ I do my best to give him a genuine smile but realize I fail miserably as he narrows his eyes vaguely.

“Who are your friends? I might know them. You look about my age,’’

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Is he serious? Do I look like I’m in a mental state for questions?

“I’m 20 and I don’t think you know them. They’re… younger.’’

“Younger as in like high school age or what?’’ 

I strain my lips into a thin smile. “Mhm.’’ 

A simple nod is his only response. Thank god. 

Outside the window is dark. It’s a clear evening but the sky’s far from the gold-pink spectacle it was yesterday, only a thin thread of yellow sundown showing at the horizon. 

As we take a turn, I spot the strip mall. The first sign I see is ‘Great Clips’ and my heart does a backflip so severe I’m in slight panic it might stop. Then - Blackjacks Pizza. ‘Fast free delivery’.

“Stop! Stop right here!’’ I grasp onto the passenger seat as he slams the breaks and we both slam forward in our seatbelts. We’re not all the way there yet, but I can’t be in this car any longer.

Turning to look at me, he frowns, slightly irritated but can’t really bring himself to get mad. 

“Damn, alright, easy. 9 dollars…’’ 

I dive my hand into my pocket and find a 10 dollar bill. “Keep the change.’’ Unbuckling the belt, I fling the door open and hurry out before I change my mind. There’s no turning back now and that feeling is enhanced as my ride revs away, leaving me standing in the middle of the street.

The jacket I bought is warming me, but I can’t stop my body from shaking. Taking one step after the other feels like wading through wet cement and I almost lose track of what I’m about to do.

The huge strip mall panorama grows wider as I walk towards my goal, and I swear I feel as if I’m in somebody else’s body, watching the scene unfold through somebody else’s eyes.

I take an abrupt halt to breathe. Not even seven feet and I’m out of breath.

I haven’t spotted anyone yet. As far as I can tell, there’s no one at the cashier, and I don’t see any movement either. Not until I’m all the way at the entrance - my hand reached out to grab the handle, swinging the door open - a short brunette emerges from behind the back. 

“Hi, welcome to Blackjacks.’’ Her smile is prettier than I remember it, and she’s gorgeous. “Do you wanna take a look at the menu or are you ready to order?’’

I stand there, staring, my body feeling like five hundred pounds, arms lifelessly hanging on each side of my body as if they’re not mine. 

As if my soul’s been suspended out of my body and yanked back again, I blink twice, opening my mouth to speak with no sound leaving me.

The brunette is Kim. Kim Carlin. Live and in person. Her smile fades a bit as she analyses me from head to toe.

A smile on my face breaks the tension and her smile widens again.

“I’m so sorry! Daydreaming.’’

“Ah, no worries - I do that all the time. So… a pizza?’’

I’m drenched in sweat and the tension ceasing causes me to chuckle harder than I should. 

“Yeah, pizza. Um-- let me see.’’ I take a few steps closer, narrowing my eyes at the menu. A figure steps into the frame at my wide-angle and my eyes dart down. 

My breathing hitches and all my brain can render is a pair of alert eyes. “Hi,’’ He stops by her side, putting his hands on his hip to ask about my order. She tells him I haven’t decided yet and that brings his attention to me again - this time, eyes more curious and respectfully wandering.

“Alright, let me know,’’ 

“I’ll-take-a-medium-pepperoni-pizza-with-green-peppers,’’ I blurt out breathlessly. 

He stops in motion and takes two steps back. My heart is pounding so hard that my hearing is muffled, Kim’s words barely audible. I can see he’s slightly frowning now, not out of anger, but more so out of sheer curiosity.

I’m right in the middle of this now - I’m here, this minute. This moment is unfolding as you read.

He’s not as short as I expected - not even as skinny as I thought. He’s on his way to becoming a man, and it shows. His voice - it’s deeper. Not like on the tapes.

And the worst part? To me, he’s translucent. I can see the weariness in his eyes. I know what he’s hiding. It might as well be written on his forehead.

This fact gives me a spark of confidence and for the first time since I walked into this place, I seek and find eye contact with him.

He glances at me right as I glance at him - if only for a couple of nanoseconds. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry but I know I’ve never had a similar feeling to the one I have at the moment; his presence is weighing me down like a ton of bricks.

I’m fearing I’ve gone into a state of shock because I’m no longer avoiding his glare. He’s stealing looks, and I’m upright staring. What is it really to be afraid of? 

I did it. It’s done. I’m here and he sees me. Fuck, I’m definitely in shock.

Another customer walks inside, snapping me out of it. I avert my eyes - even turning my posture away to stare outside the large glass windows. The only thing I see is my reflection and I see I’m paler than a ghost - thank god winter's here to save me. The familiar nausea is making itself known and I focus on breathing from my stomach. Square - breathe in a square.

Time passes slower and slower the longer I stand there. Exhaling the last large breath, gulping hard, I pretend to casually glance around the place, leaning on my hip, painfully aware he’s the figure moving in the corner of my eye. I know Kim’s not around - she left for somewhere soon after serving the other customer.

It’s only me and him and I’m still light-headed, praying for my heart to stop bolting in my chest before my body physically shuts down to the stress. Then his voice breaks through the low background music.

“Do you want extra peppers?’’

Tightening my fist slightly as if to give myself some inner strength, I turn to glance at him. I know that if I speak now, my voice will fail me miserably - I can already sense the trembling.

He smiles and I swear I can feel my chin drop. Quick, make a sound! 

“But- I didn’t pay for that.’’ My heart drops to my feet as I realize I haven’t paid at all yet. That certainly brings some color back to my cheeks.

“Don’t worry about it. Believe it or not - this one’s actually my favorite pizza, and I know extra peppers makes it even better so I thought maybe you’d wanna try it,’’

Had I not known who he was, I would’ve rubbed his words off as bullshit or bad flirting. But here I am - knowing damn well his favorite pizza was, in fact, pepperoni with green peppers. Or is.

Studying his face, catching his curious glances one after the other, I swallow down absolutely nothing as my mouth is dry as a desert. 

“Okay,’’ I try and succeed with a fairly genuine smile and I can tell he takes the credit for that.

There’s something else too - the way he’s putting on an act. Walking back and forth down the aisle to get sauce and toppings - probably far more enthusiastically than what’s necessary.

“I don’t wanna come off as a weirdo, but can I ask what school you go to?’’

My heart does a double beat, sending me into fear I’ve lost my breath for a second. I wet my lips and relax my face as I at least try to smile with my eyes. “Oh, uh- I don’t go to school. I work.’’

“Oh-’’ He exhales a chuckle. “Shit, sorry for the assumption. I thought you looked my age.’’

I choke back the impulse to snort as he's the second person to say that today. Turning my stance towards him, I take my chance to initiate further conversation. I can see he slows down his tasks vaguely to evaluate my reaction, in which he shortly after proceeds to work faster. Is he… nervous?

“That’s okay. How old did you think I was?’’ My voice is steadier, finally, but I’m still struggling with keeping my tone natural.

He smirks. “Is that a trap? I’ve learned you should never guess a woman’s age.’’ 

Intrigued by what he just said, I allow a small smile on my lips. I’m so relieved over how easy this feels that I get a sudden urge to tease him, but I hesitate. “No, no trap. I promise.’’ 

After placing the pizza in the oven, he walks right up to the counter where I’m standing - only six feet away. I recognize the swaying in his walk from the videos, the way he’s carrying himself to play it cool. He takes a full stop, a little awkward in his stance until he places his hands on his hips. 

“Alright- I’d say- around 18, but that’s just my guess,’’ His accent is even more obvious in real life and again, I’m dumbfounded. Every imperfection, every mole is within my eye’s clear vision now and I barely allow myself to believe he’s standing there.

When he raises his hand to scratch his temple, I snap back to the present by the movement.

“Sorry-what did you say?’’

He smirks mistrustingly. “I guessed 18. Your age.’’

“Right! Um-’’ My gaze darts to the floor and back. “I’ll give you credit for close guess - I’m 20.’’ 

This doesn’t seem to make him less confident - quite the opposite. He wets his lips, shifting his stance. “That makes you older than me.’’

We stand in silence for a while as I ravish through my brain for something normal to say in response because, in reality, I’m nowhere near older than him. “Are you in high school?’’ 

“Yep. Senior year.’’

His answer sends shivers down my spine. I know you are, Eric. Something weird washes over me that ignite anger and I can barely restrain my tongue. “You’ll love it after you graduate - getting out of high school is the best thing that can happen to you.’’ 

I convince myself I can see something change in his eyes even if he doesn’t do as much as blink. A smile that, to me, is slyer than one from the Devil himself, stretches his lips. 

“Yeah, I bet so. It’s gonna feel great to move on from there. Somebody sure as hell lied when they said high school’s the best years of your life - it’s been hell if you ask me.’’ He chuckles and I have to force a smile for this one.

The oven’s timer saves me from having to answer and he spins back around to get the pizza. 

Emotions are dashing back and forth inside me - I feel lost. As much as I’m tickly nervous and bittersweet about being here, he angers me. I know what he’s planning and observing how slick he’s trying to be about it, makes me want to punch him. He thinks I’m just another oblivious person that walked in here to order a pizza. 

“Pizza’s all done. I hope you’ll like the extra peps, or you can always come back here and complain.’’ He places the steaming cardboard box on the counter and I stare at it for a while before I plant my gaze in his. His expression is easy-going, sweet even. 

I can’t help but crack a smile. “I’m sure I will - like the extra peppers, I mean.’’ I snort. “I never paid,’’ I reach down my pocket and listen as Eric’s punches in some numbers on the cashier, and to my surprise, I look up to see only half the price I’m supposed to pay. 

“Are you sure the total is correct?’’

“3 dollars and 49 cents - yep.’’

I raise my brows, handing over the right amount and a dollar extra, and his smirk widens as he grabs them without counting.

“I don't wanna come on too strong, but- can I give you my number? It’d be cool to talk to you some time. It’s okay if you don’t want to- I just thought I’d ask.’’

I fight the impulse to laugh out loud in shock but my mouth falls open nonetheless. This went way better than I expected. I didn’t want to believe he could be this self-assured.

I start nodding my head numbly, adding a ‘sure’ and he dives away for a piece of paper and a pen, scribbling down his number. On top, he adds his name. Before I’m able to recover from what’s happening, he walks out from behind the counter and hands it over.

“I didn’t introduce myself properly - I’m Eric Harris.’’ He extends his hand and I grab it in mine on autopilot. Again, my eyes involuntarily wander over his face, trying to comprehend his presence. 

“Y/n. Nice to meet you.’’

Our eyes connect for what feels like minutes, his gaze indecisive but kind. Thankfully, we let go at the same time and I turn on my heel to flee for my life. As I reach the door, I bulge my eyes wide when I realize I forgot the disguise as to why I’m here.

“Hey, your pizza!’’ 

I clench my eyes shut before turning around to face him again, plastering on a smile. He’s right behind me, pizza in hand and a small smile on his lips, not at all shy with eye contact.

“I… realized.’’ I chuckle awkwardly, grabbing the box. “I’ll call you.’’

He wets his lips and blinks, and as if his words get stuck in his throat he just grins. “Great.’’

Stepping outside, I welcome the cold, fresh air stinging my cheeks like an old friend. I inhale and exhale systematically, not daring to look over my shoulder once.

His number is safe and secure in my pocket, and feeling like I’m walking around with a stolen piece of hyper-expensive jewelry represents how paranoid I am about losing it.

Was this really his tactic? Instead of asking for a girl’s number, he asks to give his own, perhaps to spare himself disappointment if he calls and doesn’t get an answer. Or get stood up. 

I sigh hard, breathing out the last remains of anxiety - I did it.


	4. Chapter 4

I never realized getting his number would result in a huge chunk of new anxiety.

It’s Monday, and I haven’t called him. It’s Monday and I still cannot for the life of me understand this is happening. How many times have I said that now?

I’ve met Eric Harris, he gave me his number, and I haven’t called him yet. What the hell is taking me so long? The clock is ticking, louder, and louder. And so is my money count. I’m down on my last few dollars, and two days from now, I won’t have anywhere to stay. The motel owner has already let me stay on discount - twice.

Sitting in the room’s only chair, I peek at the phone every now and then, bouncing my right leg restlessly. 

I finally decide to dart to my feet, rush to my jacket, and pull out the paper. Holding it like a piece of broken glass, I unfold it gently, somewhat afraid it might evaporate and vanish if I don’t do it fast enough. I recognize his writing, though this one looks neater than the one in his journal. It’s not as rushed, not as angry.

I thud down on the chair again and don’t drag while picking up the receiver to punch in the numbers. Compared to all the other numbers I’ve tried in recent days, this one actually works.

To be sure, I double-check the time - 5:30. He should be home.

“Harris’s residence, this is Wayne.’’

Internally, I visualize how I scream at the top of my lungs and fling the receiver across the room, but in reality, I sit back, eyes wider than plates, voice stunned mute.

“A-Uh- Hi, this is y/n. I was hoping to speak with Eric, please.’’ My cheeks are flaming and again, my heart is doing backflips.

“Hello, y/n. He’s not at home at the moment. Do you want me to let him know you called?’’

“No- that’s okay, Mr. Harris. I’ll just call again later.’’ I gulp and clear my throat. “You wouldn’t happen to know where he’s at?’’

“He said he’d be with Dylan - if that means anything to you,’’ He chuckles and I squeeze my eyes shut. The only time I’ve ever heard Wayne’s voice was in that recorded 911 call about Eric being involved in the shooting. It feels surreal to be speaking to that same voice now.

“That helps a lot actually,’’ I force a smile even though he can’t see me. “Thank you, Mr. Harris. Have a nice evening.’’

“No problem at all - you too! Bye.’’

I manage to whisper a ‘goodbye’ long after he’s hung up, and only then do I lower the receiver from my ear and put it back.

He’s with Dylan. That could be anywhere. Blackjacks? Dylan’s house? Like a mother, I’m almost paralyzed with fear not knowing where he is. Completely irrational - it’s January, still months away from April.

I grab the Hersey bar on the desk and chug it down faster than I should. In comparison to other people in fervent distress, I never turned to alcohol or drugs - sugar always did it for me.

What could they be doing now, in January? My best guess is out driving somewhere. Or did they take another trip to Rampart Range? One they never mentioned anywhere. The chocolate bar does its magic and I can feel the sugar rush working its way through my body. Not long after, I dart to the door and grab my jacket on my way out.

The weather is good. It’s almost sundown but the temperature’s still over freezing. I spit profanities under my breath as I slip on a frozen spot on the sidewalk, growing angry over the fact that there’s no way I can get a hold of him. No Snapchat, no Whatsapp or Facebook. 

It’s like missing a limb - how the hell did they do it?!

Not until I’m at the intersection do I realize this is a waste of time. I can’t walk around Littleton looking for them like a fool - that’s hysterical. They’re not going to magically appear from out of nowhere and wave at me from Eric’s car, even if that’s a pleasing daydream. And I sure as hell won’t find them either. I’ll have to wait, and call again later. Like I said.

Three hours drag by and I can barely take it anymore as I sit down on the chair to try calling again a second time.

Not a second goes by and I hear angry rattling.

“Alright- stop prank calling me, asshole.’’

“Eric…?’’ I blurt out, slapping a hand over my mouth.

“Who’s this?’’

“It’s y/n. Um- is it a bad time?’’ I realize I’m breathing heavier than usual, sweating my ass off.

“Shit, sorry! That wasn’t meant for you. A friend’s been messing with me since I got home."

I smile, frowning. “It's fine! Doesn’t sound much like a friend though.’’ As I look down at my hand in my lap, it’s trembling worse than I’ve noticed.

He exhales a familiar wheeze laugh. “When you put it like that I think I’m gonna have to agree.’’

He sounds as easy going as two days ago - almost as if he isn’t planning a school shooting. “It’s nice you called, I didn’t think you would.’’

Ah, here we go. “I said I would.’’

I hear him snort. “Yep well, a lot of people say things, to be nice or not hurt people’s feelings.’’

I place a hand over my face, erratically scratching my forehead to come up with something even remotely worthy to say to this broken kid. If I’d been just anyone, the way he said what he just said would’ve come off as rude and irritable. 

“That is true. People do and say a lot of shitty things.’’ As I’m, for some reason, expecting the line to go silent, I’m surprised when he speaks.

“Yeah, people are pretty dumb.’’ I can hear he’s trying to be insouciant about the subject, but to me, it has a different meaning. “So, how was your day? Better than mine I hope.’’

He sounds so utterly deprived of social connection it’s haunting. He’s practically baiting me to ask him about his day. Zoning back to the real world, I hold my breath for a second to recap what he just said. “My day was… good. Uneventful. Work - you know.’’

“Yeah, I know the feeling. I bet your job’s worth it though - what is that you do? If it’s alright I ask.’’

He’s so respectful and way more courteous than I ever imagined. Where’s the monster? Where’s the anger? This side of him and the other, shooting innocent kids in a school, are almost impossible to sow together. It's deceiving, and dangerous.

“Can I ask what happened today?’’ I regret my words as soon as they leave my tongue. Shit.

“Do you mean- oh, you mean that,’’ I hear some more rattling noises in the background like he's fiddling with something. ‘’There’s this guy at my school that’s been going around talking crap about me behind my back. Turns out he wasn’t really the friend I thought he was so that kinda sucks.’’

This rings a bell and it’s making me genuinely concerned. He talked about this with Susan - I remember, from the 11k documents.

“I’m really sorry about that. I know how that hurts,’’ I inhale deeply as silent as I can manage. “But if he could do that to you, he wasn’t a friend to start with. You’ll learn to recognize who is worthy of your time, and who’s not. I’m no expert at this… but, it’s at least one thing I’ve learned… so far.’’ I chuckle to enlighten the mood, but for the first time since he picked up, the line goes quiet.

“You’re right. That’s a lot of insight right there.’’

“Oh- I’m just talking from experience. I’m happy I became this intolerant so early in life. Saves a bunch of energy for sure."’ 

He chuckles barely audible. “I bet so - I’m won’t say I’m surprised, you seem really cool.’’

I slump my head forward, again covering my face with my hand. Whatever it is that's going on here, is not what I came for. And it’s not going to go well with trying to befriend Dylan either. He’ll be furious if he thinks I’m Eric’s new love interest and that way, I definitely won't be able to reach him. I’m not looking to be the new girl he wants to kill for stealing another one of his friends. Devon was more than enough.

“Thanks. So do you.’’

I hear him smiling. "I can't believe we just met - for some reason I feel like I've known you longer."

Again, I don't know how to respond and all I do for a few seconds is stare at the floor.

"You do?"

"Yeah. It's weird," Another chuckle. "I hope you don't think I'm being a creep or anything. I mean what I say."

"I don't think you're a creep."

"Thanks. That's good - for me,’’ Again, a soft chuckle. ‘’So… can I ask you a question?"

My heart catapults in my chest and I clench my fist. "Sure."

"That pizza you ordered the other day - is that your usual order er did you just order out of the blue…?’’

“Uh- I mean, it's not my favorite but I’ve had it before. Oh, the extra peppers were great by the way. You were right.’’

He chuckles. “Ha! I told you. You’ll never wanna eat it without ‘em again."

I can envision the smirk on his face, causing the corners of my mouth to twitch. “We’ll have to see about that.’’

“I think you're lying.’’

I sit up straight, now frowning yet smiling. “You know what…? I’m not gonna disagree.’’ 

A wholehearted chuckle echoes through the line - one I’ve never heard him do before. For a second there, I’m losing myself in the moment completely, feeling like it’s always been this way, and that it always will be. I’m overwhelmed. 

“I think I need to go to bed - I got work really early in the morning.’’ I grit my teeth over having to lie. In fact, I’m about to lose the battle against the impending tears.

He hurries to answer. “Sure, I understand. Do you wanna talk again tomorrow? I can call you if you want.’’

“I’ll call you. I promise.’’

“Alright. I’ll be home around 2:30, but I guess you got work until later?’’

“Yeah, uh- 5 pm. I'll call you when-- I get back.’’ 

“Sounds good to me - talk to you tomorrow around 5 then.’’ It breaks my heart how excited he seems to be and here I am, hurrying to get him off the line so I can weep. 

“Good night, y/n. Thanks for calling me.’’

“Good night, Eric.’’ 

I don’t waste another second before ending the call. The tears are already rolling and I’m praying he couldn’t tell. This cannot continue. I have to get it together. I’m throwing away precious time by giving in to my feelings.

I just know even before I crash down in bed that tonight will be a long night. Non-stop spiraling thoughts, turning back and forth until the blanket slides off the bed. I see my parents every time I close my eyes. I recall memories with them, where we’re all smiling and laughing. I miss them, I miss them so much it’s threatening to crush me from the inside. It dawns on me that any boring day in my ordinary life would be better than any having to feel like this. Any time I’ve ever wished to be somewhere else would be better than being here.

Soft whimpering eventually turns into sobbing and the feeling of being alone in the world is pressing. There’s nowhere I can turn for comfort - no shoulder to cry on or no arms to run into.

_Whatever you do,_

_Be careful what you wish for._


	5. Chapter 5

I’ve been awake since 5 A.M. The second hand is ticking like a drum beside me. 

The anxiety burns in my stomach every time I come back to reality after losing myself in my thinking. Every time I blink, it feels like sandpaper rasps over my eyes. I wonder if there’s a limit to how much you can cry? I know I’m well on my way to reaching that limit.

I fling the cover to the side and stand to my feet, dragging myself across the floor to the bathroom. The room is chilly, causing goosebumps to cripple my skin. 

I’ve entered a new state of mind tonight; no matter how much I want to be a cry baby and sit inside this room, feeling sorry for myself, I’ve decided to try applying for a job. That’s the only way I’ll make money and keep a roof over my head.

It might fail terribly, it might not. All I know is - I gotta do it. I have no clue how to escape this place (dimension), so why not try and make something out of it. I need to figure something out with the owner of the motel. I have to keep this room or I’ve got nowhere to live.

I’ve also decided to try and make sense of why and how I’m here. How it could ever be possible, and the reason for it. I believe in fate, but this one has me confused, to say the least.

I stand in the shower, not moving an inch for over ten minutes, letting the scorching hot water rip me out of the darkest corners of my head. Even if I’m lost, I do have a path. 

Today I call Eric again. I have to become a friend he can trust.

My hair dries easily with the help of the hairdryer and I leave the bathroom, picking out some new clothes to defeat the day in. My mom’s jeans are not too tight nor too loose, flattering over my rear and legs. I love them. High wasted and with an authentic, stiff, jean material, they reak of the 90s. And to be funny, that fits just great. Together with the white blouse, I almost look wholesome. 

How hard could it be to score a job without any identification? I would need a spotless resume, which I already have. At home. In 2021.

I’ll go back to that internet café and compose one. Hm, or maybe not that one in particular - I didn’t like the dude in there.

All dressed and ready to go, I step outside and lock the door. For the first time since I woke up in this position, I feel somewhat revived. I can breathe the air properly, and I look presentable.

The sun shining enhances my feeling of well being and despite the bittersweet tingle tugging at my heartstrings, I take a good look at the blue sky above me, narrowing my eyes to the brightness. At last, it’s not sorrow tearing me up - instead, it’s the mere 

I go the same way down the sidewalk as the days before. My surroundings are beginning to come onto me; I hear more than I remember hearing in past days. If I’m not mistaken, there’s even more to see. More colors, despite the grayscale of the winter.

The mountain bank in the distance is breath-taking, just like the other day. I fantasize about being there someday, climbing those hills. Maybe even enjoying myself if that is ever possible again. 

Alright, focus. 

It only takes me a matter of minutes to get to a payphone and call for a cab. I need to go downtown for this. Littleton has limited offers, work-wise, and downtown is where all the internet cafés were. The cab picks me up and takes me to the core of Denver, where I see the city in daylight for the first time. I’d take the mountains any day over the city life, but it’d be wrong to say it isn’t grand. It reminds me of home, Minneapolis - not too much, but definitely not confined.

Same as last I was here, I walk inside a shop, sniffling from the cold. This time I know what to do, aiming straight for the front desk to get a computer. It takes no more than an hour for me to plant my butt on a chair, start the computer and scribble down a resume in Word that looks legitimate and print a few copies, before I’m outta there. The energy boost kicking in as I strut down the street is so palpable I almost forget where I am. Again my stomach burns with anxiety.

I make it back to Littleton around 1:30 P.M., but I don’t tell the driver to stop at my motel. 

The driver takes me to where I asked him - Clement Park. That way sparing me the risk of a mental breakdown in the car upon seeing the building. From here, it’s not as visible, if visible at all.

You probably know by now that my heart is racing, especially in this type of situation, where I’m standing in front of the same spot filmed in one of their famed videos.

Eric, being chased over a parking lot and further down a small grassy slope, in the end, caught and ‘arrested’ for his crime. I shut my eyes and envision it before opening them again, now glancing around the area. The only thing that’s changed is the season. Everything else is the exact same, just like in the video.

I move slowly towards the pavilion in plans of sitting down for a while. I keep my gaze etched to the ground, not yet ready to happen to get a peek of the school. The playground further to my right is crawling with kids at recess, typically squealing and laughing. It brings a quick smile to my lips as I stop to thud down on a bench. 

I’m still facing the opposite way, but the ambiance of being so close sends shivers down my spine as if the air is electric, like right before a storm. If that wasn’t eerie enough, I’m the only one that knows exactly what type of storm is coming to this town.

An impulse of annoyance spurs through me. The whole thing - the shooting - it’s so fucking stupid. It’s so unbelievably stupid that I give in to the urge to scoff. I throw a glance over my shoulder and spot the roof of a familiar colored building, causing me to snap my head forward again. The knot in my stomach is growing and I’m forced to swallow down the adjacent lump in my throat, or maybe that’s just my heart.

I get a feeling I look stupid, sitting there with my big, white envelope with its bullshit content inside. I remade my resume to the best of my remembrance, and I shamelessly put the motel’s address as mine.

My hurt flutters as I stand to my feet, turning around agonizingly slow to study what’s behind me. I see a fenced area, probably batting cages and baseball fields, which gets confirmed as I walk closer. 

I shift my eyes to the mountain bank again, there to soothe me as I step onto the grass, moving up the hill. The snow is patchy, melted, and as I look up, I see it. Like any other school in America right now, it stands there - preserving bad memories and events to come.

It looks so normal I almost laugh. There’s nothing special about this school - not yet.

I stay put, weighing between walking onto school grounds or leave. There’s no one around as far as I can see, but the chances of running into Eric are high, and I’m not gonna jeopardize that. Then again, to him, I’m just another Littleton citizen going about my day. Casually snooping around his school like a low life. That’d be some explanation.

Realizing how weird I’m acting, I turn around to walk down the hill the same way, and eventually, I see a car approaching across the parking lot. The sight of it just about causes me to have heart failure. 

A black, beaten up BMW. 

For a moment I’m frozen paralyzed, fearing Eric is inside. But as it passes and stops a few feet away, I spot two tall figures stepping out of it, on their way to a bench, possibly for a smoke.

It’s Dylan. And Brooks Brown. 

Every single vein inside my body is palpitating so rough that I’ve lost my ability to react to my surroundings again. I know I’m staring, but I can’t bring myself to stop. I also know I’ve been spotted when Brooks raises his hand for an indecisive wave. Is somebody behind me? Who’s he waving at? 

I’m on the verge of hysteria as the skill of walking comes back to me and I stride forward faster than I ever have before. I don’t have a destination, but as long as it’s the opposite way of them, it’s fine. I hug the envelope tight to my chest as if to hold onto something concrete, my abstract emotions barely holding me to the ground.

“Hey!’’

I flinch and shut my eyes.

“Hey, Amy - wait up!’’

Amy?! Who the heck is that?! Would it be rude to just keep walking?

I slow down to glance over my shoulder. “I think you’re mistaking me for someone else, sorry.’’ He’s not far away and I can see his face clearly as he comes to a full stop, losing his half-smile.

“Oh, man,’’ He chuckles. “ You looked like- sorry about that. Sorry for being weird running after you.’’

“It’s okay,’’ I give him a quick smile and turn back around in hopes he’s going to forget about me in the nearest thirty seconds.

“Are you new here? To Columbine I mean.’’

FUCK.

“Uh- no. I-’’ I swallow. “Just on a walk.’’

“Oh. It sorta looked like you came from the school.’’ He flicks the cigarette and the smoke comes out his nostrils as he snorts. He looks curious and mellow. “Um- sorry again for the inconvenience. Have a good day!’’ His gaze lingers as he turns away to walk off and I’m dumbfounded with the envelope creased to my chest. I don’t utter a word back.

Dylan’s not at the bench anymore, but back inside his car and I only see a quick blur of his profile as I glance that way before turning back around.

Well on my way out of there and beyond chances they could see me again, an idea hits me; 

why target Eric and Dylan themselves, and not their friends? Why not anonymously reveal their plans to one of their friends, and be over with this? 

Brooks is the first friend to come to mind. I’m fairly sure he would tell the authorities and all of this could be over. They would search Eric’s house and find the bombs and guns, the plans, the journals. He would get help. I’m just one girl - I can’t do this shit alone. It’s beyond my strength.

It’s not until I’m back at the motel parking lot that I realize I can’t back out of this now. 

Need I remind myself, I showed my face to Eric three days ago. I can’t undo that. To ignore him would make me as bad as all the others. _‘Don’t let the weird-looking Eric kid come along’._

I can’t do that?! He’s already at rock bottom. And so is Dylan. They both worry me.

**

I’ve spoken to the motel manager. He’s letting me stay until I’ve found a job. I lied. I told him my boyfriend threw me out and my parents live in, well, Minnesota. Isn’t that a rock-solid story to tell everyone I encounter, including Eric and Dylan? I hate lying.

I also hate how loud the second hand is, ticking as if its purpose is to annoy the shit out of me. It’s almost 5:10 P.M. I should be home from work now. I can swear Eric’s waiting for me to call.

Only 10 more minutes and I will. Leaning back in the chair, I let my eyes close so I can gather myself.

Too many signals go through and I’m worried he won’t pick up.

“Hello?’’

“Hey, it’s y/n. Are you busy?’’

“Hey! No, not at all. Just came back down to my room.’’ He chuckles softly. “How are you today?’’

I bite back a smile. “I’m pretty good. Can’t complain. How are you?’’ As I close my eyes, I can see him smiling.

“That’s good to hear. I’m alright. Made some arrangement for the coming term with my teachers so I’m glad that’s out of the way. Did you have a good day at work?’’

God, this is so casual it’s breaking my heart.

“I- I did. It was… a normal day.’’ I bite my lip. As far as I’m concerned, I’m not acting normal right now. At all. Get your shit together. “A couple of rude customers but what’s work without ‘em, right?’’

He chuckles. “Right. I’ve had a couple of those at Blackjacks. I used to work at Tortilla Wraps and they were there too. Unbelievable.’’ 

I shock myself by laughing out loud. “Yup. They seem to be lurking everywhere.’’

“For sure. I had one come in and tell me he didn’t like the taste of the pizza dough as if I was the one in charge of the recipe.’’ I smile as he snorts. “People never fail to make me laugh with their stupidity.’’

“I agree wholeheartedly.’’

“What is it that you do, exactly? I don’t remember you telling me yesterday.’’

I bulge my eyes and tense my jaw before I decide to just go for it. 

“I’m a waitress at a restaurant. It’s in Denver - I don’t think you’ve heard of it.’’ I realize I’m blushing as my cheeks turn warm.

“That’s nice. Is it a fancy one? Exclusive wines and such.’’ I can hear by the tone in his voice he’s smirking.

I snort. “Mh- yeah, you could say that.’’

“That’s cool. Maybe I’ll stop by someday and say hi - if that’s okay with you.’’

A wave of cold sweat ripple down my back and I have to sit up straight to come up with another lie. “Of course. I’ll buy you a steak.’’ Realizing what I’ve just said, I slap my hand over my mouth to not scream.

“I’m not gonna say no to that - I always pick steak at restaurants.’’ 

To my relief, any trace of suspicion eases as he laughs and I let my hand drop to my lap again.

“So when you were in high school, what school did you go to?’’

I can’t keep lying. I can’t. 

“Actually, I was born and raised in Minnesota, so I’m not from the area. But to answer your question, it was Alexandria Area High School - pretty decent one.’’

“Ah, I knew there was something about your accent that was different. That’s cool though - I can imagine any school is better than Columbine. That place is a hell hole.’’ He chuckles but I can’t even bring myself to smile just a little.

“That… really sucks, Eric.’’

We’re both quiet for a second.

“Yeah, it does. But it’s almost over so I might as well endure the last parts of it.’’

I automatically frown in disgust as his words trigger so many things in me.

“When do you graduate?’’

“May 22.’’

“That’s not too far away. What are your plans? For after, I mean.’’

He coughs as if to hide a laugh. “I was thinking the Marines or something small here in Colorado, like computer science at college.’’

“That’s a great idea - computer science. I’m guessing you’re into computers?’’

“Yep. I like computers a lot actually. I play a lot of games and such-’’

“Do it!’’

He laughs. “Thanks for the eager support.’’

“I mean it. Do it! If you’re passionate about something, that’s what you should do. Why are you unsure about it?’’

“I don’t know. I guess I wanna be a hundred percent sure about my choice.’’ The tone of his voice has turned doubtful.

“You can always change your mind. And then change it again. And again.’’ I sit back in the chair to calm myself. I feel as if I’m coming on too strong. I’m barely letting him speak. Nibbling on my lip, I grow concerned he’s angry when the line remains silent.

“I guess.’’

“There are endless amounts of opportunities. I promise - I mean, I would know, I’m older.’’ I force a chuckle and so does he.

“Damn - can’t argue with that. Did you ever go to college?’’

I wet my lips and close my eyes. “I didn’t. Shit, there goes my rep as a role model.’’

Hearing him chuckle brings me some kind of joy. 

“Not at all. I can understand why you chose not to though - it’s a big deal and it’s gotta feel right. I guess that’s what I’m getting at here - having the right feeling about it is pretty important.’’

“Are you sure you’re a high school kid? You’re smart. And insightful. That’s rare, you know.’’

“Psht, well - thanks. Being an airhead just never was my thing.’’

I snort. “I can tell.’’

“What are you up to now?’’ 

I glance at the clock. My mouth drops as I realize we’ve been talking for an hour already. “Um- nothing much. Sitting around, watching some TV.’’ I dart my eyes to the TV that is deader than a corpse.

“I got another hour until curfew. Would it be weird if I picked you up and we could buy some snacks and drinks and hang out? It’s okay if you’re not up for it - I know it’s pretty short notice.’’ 

He chuckles nervously and I lean away from the receiver to not accidentally squeak out a weird noise. Putting my palm on my forehead in shock, I put the phone back to my ear in a hurry.

“Uh- sure!’’ At the same time, it dawns on me that I live in a fucking motel. “I was planning on going to the store later actually. You wanna pick me up there?’’

“Yeah, sure. What store are we talking about?’’

“Oh, sorry! Um-’’ I search in vain for a name of a close-by store in my head. “Wait- pick me up outside Denny’s on South Wadsworth Boulevard. I’ll do groceries later.’’

“Alright. That’s around 5 miles from where I live, so it’ll be a while. Let’s say… 6:35?’’

The clock is 6:25.

“Sounds good!’’

“Alright - see you at Denny’s parking lot.’’

“Yup, see you soon.’’

When I know for sure he's hung up, I slam the receiver back and missile out of the chair to hysterically look around for my phone - that doesn't exist. The urge to text Kat is killing me. The past minutes soon becomes factual and my heart gets stuck in my throat,

Eric Harris is picking me up in ten minutes.


	6. Chapter 6

The temperature has dropped down several degrees, mainly because the sun has gone down. Denny’s sign lights up well enough to spot all the way from the motel parking lot and a shiver goes through me as I think about who I’m gonna meet in just a few minutes. This is it. There’s no room for anything else than getting to know him now.

I have the jacket wrapped tight around me, the zipper closed and my hands curled into fists inside the pockets. I’ll admit I did take a second look in the mirror before leaving, taming my hair back in place with a brush and splashing some water in my face.

There’s not a trace of wind, and the ambiance is peaceful as the town is calming down for the night. New, fresh snow is crunching under my shoes and I check for cars before jogging across the street, eyes set on Denny’s parking lot.

Maybe I should go inside and wait. That way my nose wouldn’t be too runny when he arrives. The last thing I wanna do is sit in his car and sniffle. I’ll be busy enough with trying to act sane.

I enter the building, almost rolling my eyes at the pleasure of heat. My heart bolts in my chest as I once again remember why I’m here and I focus on the closest table to my right, taking a seat in one of the cold, hard chairs. Not much has changed through the decades design-wise; same musty leather booths and squeaky uncomfortable chairs. The smell of greasy fast food is intense and once again lighting strikes through me; what if I smell bad? What if sitting here will make me smell like… hamburger?

I lean back in the chair and frantically search around the restaurant and the surroundings outside the glass windows. No Honda in sight yet. The only company I have in here is an elderly trucker and a couple, so occupied with their meal they haven’t even as much as glanced at me.

He must think I’m strange as hell, asking him to pick me up at a fast-food restaurant. What the hell was I gonna say? ‘Yeah, I’m from 2021 so my current address is a motel and I’ve got 30 dollars in my pocket. You good with that?’

Headlights sweeping over the parking lot from a passing car catches my attention, and by the sight of the sticker on the rear window - it’s him. Rammstein.

The heavy thudding from my heart is practically choking me and as I rise from the chair, I feel the blood drain from my skull. I swallow repeatedly, wetting my lips to gain some form of stability as I walk out the door and aim my steps towards the humming Honda Prelude. Heavy smoke is coming from the pipe and I try to focus on that rather than staring down at the ground.

Seconds away from his car, seconds from opening the door, and stepping inside his fucking car. I’m barely done thinking it before my body opens the passenger door for me on autopilot. I lean down a bit, catching a pair of curious eyes aimed my way already. A smirk grows on his lips.

“Hi,’’

“Hey,’’ I can feel my pulse work its hardest in my neck as I thud down in the seat and close the door. The car is warm and smells just like an old car should; nostalgic.

Silence follows and we steal looks until laughter breaks out. 

“So… Denny’s huh. I must say it’s a pretty odd place to live-’’ We glance at each other at the same time and he chuckles, cheeks tinted pink, and eyes looking around nervously as he starts driving. It’s dark in here, and only the light from the dashboard is lighting up his features, causing them to look even sharper.

As he glances at me again, I realize I have to look away and give him an answer. “Yeah, hardly any rats though. Sometimes a distinct smell of greasy food, but other than that- can’t complain.’’ 

I try a smile and he shifts his eyes from mine to my lips, chuckling softly.

“Sounds pretty great.’’

I’m so fully focused on trying to make myself seem normal that I barely notice the static ambiance, even though it’s palpable. We’re both so awkward in this situation that you can almost physically touch it. 

“How was your day?’’

He shifts his eyes between me and the road, his smirk growing momentarily wider. “About the same as earlier,’’

I fight the urge to bulge my eyes and not drown in shame as I realize it was not more than 30 minutes ago we spoke over the phone, talking about how our day went. “Oh, god… that’s embarrassing. Sorry.’’ I crack up and so does he.

“What I meant to say was- it’s good to see you again.’’ My cheeks get warm and I try to hold a steady gaze on him. Until he shifts his eyes to me and I’m forced to cast down my eyes to my lap. Coward.

“It’s nice seeing you too. I was sure you wouldn’t say yes to meeting me at this time,’’ 

I shrug. “Well, why not,’’

He chuckles. “You make it sound so obvious.’’ 

We’re driving down a road I don’t recognize and it hits me that I’m inside a moving vehicle as his presence is robbing me of my awareness completely.

“Hm- well, if you plan to kidnap me, I guess it’s too late to say no anyway.’’

Again, he chuckles. Louder this time. “You could always open the door and jump out.’’

Already liking where this conversation is heading, I shift my position towards him in the seat. “Partially true- but what if you got a hold of my arm, or my jacket? You’d just pull me back in.’’

“It would still be worth a try though,’’ He smirks as he glances at me, and my smile grows wide this time - even on the brim of showing teeth. 

I cock an eyebrow and hum deviously. “So that confirms it- you’re kidnapping me?’’

“Yup. To King Soopers for snacks.’’ 

I dart my eyes outside and see the strip mall up ahead, glancing back at him as he slows down for the turn. The way the dimple dents his cheek when he smirks causes me to zone out. 

“Too predictable?’’

Blinking myself back to the moment, I squint my eyes and wrinkle my nose to fake disappointment. “Ah- your improvisation could use some improvement.’’

“Yeah, I’ll have to work on that I guess.’’

As silence follows I get a quick moment to reflect on his clothes as he searches for a spot to park. He’s wearing jeans. No hat. No trench coat. The jacket he’s wearing is a starter jacket, and I’m speculating it's the one some people described him wearing, more often than the coat.

The silence becomes striking when he kills the engine and we both shy away as we glance at each other before stepping out. I can feel his eyes on me again as he locks the car and I circle the hood to join his side. He’s not too talkative, even a little awkward. Not at all the way you’d think he’d be based on the way he portrays himself in his journal; arrogant and full of shit.

The picture of him being small built is erased once again as I walk close to him. He’s not the tallest person I’ve ever met, but he’s not even close to being as scrawny as I expected. You can tell he’s played sports in his days, just as much as you can see he’s still a growing teenager.

“What kind of snacks do you prefer?’’

My thinking curtain slides aside and I peak at him. “Oh-uh… good question. I barely eat snacks nowadays. It’s a such teenage thing to do.’’ I tease, smiling as he looks at me with a flat expression. “But if it’s a matter of life and death- I’ll say Hersey bar and a Pepsi. Oh, and the Hersey bar needs to be cookies and cream. That’s crucial.’’

He smirks. “I’ll keep that in mind.’’

I want to ask him about his favorite snacks, but I already know. I know a lot about this poor soul and he has no idea. I’m almost ashamed of it.

I’m familiar with the silence that occurs between us now and then as we walk down the aisles to find our snack of choice; we’re new to each other, and that seems to be hard on him. Especially on him. The age gap between us, despite only being two (19) years, is clearly notable. He’s less experienced, even if he’s well-mannered and smart.

He asks a few questions and words a few witty comments about products on the shelves that make me laugh, but other than that, he seems unaware of what to say and insanely hard to read. He pays for everything at the check-out and I thank him.

“First discount on pizza and now you buy me snacks. You seem like a good person to have around.’’ I banter and he exhales a laugh as we walk side by side back to the car, snow crunching under our shoes.

“Ah, that’s why you didn’t say no.’’

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. This is just a bonus. I can already feel you’re a good person. I mean, that conversation we had before- about the kidnapping- it takes a certain person to hold a conversation like that.’’ Afraid I’ve talked too much, I shut myself up and glance at him as we part, his head sticking up from behind his side of the car.

He seems to be evaluating my rant and wets his lips, remaining a blank expression as he unlocks. I can see a smile twitching in the corner of his mouth, somewhat confirming what I was hoping for; he’s flattered, maybe even shy about it. “I don’t think talking about kidnapping someone qualifies for a good person, but you got a point.’’

I chuckle at how unpredictable his answer is as I thud down in the seat again, seeing him do the same in the corner of my eye.

“This is the type of thing I mentioned during our phone call the other night. Somehow it feels like I know you better than I should- what feels logical, that is. Familiar’s a good word for it.’’

“I’ve heard they call that chemistry,’’ Immediately dreading I’ve given him the wrong impression, I clear my throat. “Could also be me talking a hole in your head,’’ I add with a quick chuckle.

“I don’t mind you doing so. You got expressive things to say. It’s the meaningless crap that comes out of people’s mouths that’s the problem. Like this one person I know from school- he talks so much bullshit it’s like a live show comedy sometimes. It’s even funnier that people believe it too.’’ He ends the sentence with a scoff, taking a bite off the unwrapped slim jim.

The interior light goes out and his face falls in shadow. 

“What kind of bullshit?’’ I catch myself being amazed over watching him eat. There are no videos of that - at least not shown to the public.

“Just casual things like his uncle is a multimillionaire, he has a 215 IQ, and his grandparents give him 1000 dollars a month. Ya know- the typical. Oh, and he has 5 other homes other than the one here in Denver. Why would you lie that much? It’s stupid as hell.’’

I snort before taking a sip of my Pepsi. “That’s… impressively stupid. What’s he trying to gain from it? Chicks?’’ I’m aware it’s Brooks he’s talking about - he wrote the same things about him in his angry rants on his website.

“That’s a good question. I never see him getting any so I guess his way of trying to impress isn’t working too well.’’ As he rips another bite from the sausage, I sense he’s getting worked up about it, more than one normally would.

I lean a pinch closer to him. “You should ignore him. Erase his existence from your head.’’

Done swallowing, he wets his lips as he looks at me. “Yeah, I wish I could. He hangs out with one of my best friends so it’s easier said than done. We sometimes hang out in a smaller group of friends so he naturally comes along,’’

“Yeah. That complicates things. Have you tried talking to him about it- I mean as in confronting him?’’

He darts his eyes at me, raising his eyebrows to his forehead. “Not really. He’s too much of a smartass for me to stand even a five-minute conversation with him. He just pisses me off.’’

I exhale slowly and quietly, going through answers in my head. I don’t have the tools for this. What do I even say? I can’t relate to him on this. 

“What if- hm, maybe not.’’

“Go ahead.’’ 

I watch him take the last bite of the slim jim.

“It’s just- you should see him as a lesson. And with that I mean, what kind of people you don’t need in your life. See it like this - once you graduate, you won’t have to be around him unless you accidentally bump into him somewhere.’’ I pause to see if he catches my drift, but his face remains unchanged so I continue nonetheless. “He might even move, or you move, and you’ll never see him again. My conclusion is; he’ll be out of your life and there’s no need to let him drain you. I’m being blunt here. From what I’m hearing, he takes up way too much space in your head. Don’t give him that.’’

Again I feel like I’ve spoken too much or said something that might set him off, but he snorts and wets his lips again. This adds to my confidence.

“I’m not saying it should be done overnight, just be aware of it. Think about it.’’

He’s fiddling with his hands, picking at his palms. He seems to be thinking it over, deeply pondering as his eyes travel miles away out the window before he snaps back to the moment. “You’re right.’’ He mutters, locking his hands together in his lap. “You’re real good at this.’’

“What’s this?’’

“Talking. It feels good talking to you. Geez - isn’t it weird we just met? I sure think so.’’

The longer my gaze is locked on him, the more nervous he seems to get. Even though he can keep well steady eye contact, I see through his façade.

“That’s good. I’m up for talking whenever.’’ I say, shrugging and taking another sip. He looks me over, smiles vaguely then nods. “And, yeah. I don’t think I’ve talked this freely with anyone since I met my best friend Kat.’’

Judging by his face, my words seem to motivate him in opening up as he squirms comfortably in his seat. “Do you wanna go bowling with me and a few of my friends next Friday? Maybe that’s too much- meeting my friends- I understand if you don’t want to since we just met.’’

“Count me in.’’ 

His face breaks out in a happy smile. “Really? You wanna go?’’

“Really! Again- why not,’’ I declare, purposely demonstrating the same shrug I did when he picked me up.

“I thought you were gonna say no,’’ He chuckles, causally scratching his left temple. I’ve seen him do that before, in a video. It’s like a nervous trait. “But that’s great. My friends are decent people so you don’t have to worry about them- not that I think you would,’’ He aims a semi-anxious gaze at me.

I reassure him by smiling. “I’m sure I can handle them. Can’t be any worse than you,’’ I banter and he snorts, mouth falling open in a smirk.

“Geez. I don’t say this to a lot of people, but you’re pretty funny,’’

I chuckle. “Thanks. I get it from my Dad I guess. You should hear his Dad jokes,’’ I roll my eyes, shaking my head. Then I’m reminded of where I am and my smile melts off of my face.

Unfortunately, Eric notices. “You alright?’’

“Yeah. I’m fine- I just… sometimes you really miss your family.’’ I turn my head away from him to pretend I’m looking out the window, swallowing down tears for dear life.

“They’re in Minnesota, right?’’

My nostrils flare from the burn from threatening tears. If I cry now, I’ll fucking die on the spot. But no tears fall and I turn my head back again, smiling.

“Yeah.’’

“When do you get to see them again?’’

For once, I get to speak the truth. “I don’t know.’’

“What brought you here for starters? To Colorado.’’

This question reverses every trace of sadness and replaces it with anxiety instead. I’m gonna have to lie again, and I’m not sure he’ll like this one.

“A guy.’’

“Ah- I see.’’ He shifts his eyes out the window as if he’s heard this story about a million times before. “So I’m guessing you got a boyfriend?’’

I gulp. “Uh- no. I don’t. We broke up but I stayed. Even though it didn’t work out, I still like it here- in Colorado.’’

He snorts scornfully, even though he looks pleased with my answer. “Denver is crap.’’

I frown, suddenly feeling offensive. “No, it’s not.’’ I want to challenge him. “Have you seen the mountains back there?’’ I gesture with my thumb out the rear window and he sighs.

“Yup. Nothing wrong with them but it’s the society and the people living in it that bothers me.’’

“Fair enough. I’ve had my fair share of stupid, but it’s not all bad.’’

“The way I see it, it is.’’

I decide to leave it and stay silent to hopefully send out some kind of message and it’s not too long until he speaks.

“Is that the reason I picked you up at Denny’s- you still live with him?’’ 

I shake my head. “I don’t, so no, that’s not the reason.’’

His eyes are indecisive. “Alright.’’ Looking at his wristwatch, he sighs. “I gotta head back, it’s almost past curfew,’’ He chuckles as if he doesn’t really give a damn.

“Oh- will this get you into trouble?!’’ 

“Not really. My parents are pretty strict but I’m soon to be 18 so they’ve eased up some on that department. Where do you want me to drive you?’’

His downplaying of his parents’ strictness brings a small smile to my lips. “Um- Denny’s is fine.’’

He gives me a ‘are you serious’ look as he starts the engine.

“Groceries, remember?’’ 

“You buy your groceries at Denny’s?’’

I narrow my eyes, smiling ironically. “You know what? You’re pretty funny too,’’

He chuckles, his gaze lingering on me before he starts driving. “Thanks.”

We’re both silent for a while, and that’s when I notice the radio’s not on. I peak at him but avert my eyes when he looks in my direction for a turn. Just as I’ve mustered up enough courage to break the silence, he takes the words out of my mouth. 

“Do you mind if I put on some music?’’

I shake my head no, and he reaches for a button on the stereo. 

“There’s a bunch of CDs in the glove box if you wanna check ‘em out. I’m sure you’ve never heard of KMFDM but this is them playing,’’ 

My soul leaves my body as I recognize the song.

Megalomaniac.

His curious eyes glance at me in search of a reaction and I answer by shifting my eyes between him and the stereo, slightly bopping my head to the beat to pretend I’ve never heard this song in my life.

“I like it!’’

A smirk breaks out on his face. “You do?!’’

“I do!’’

He exhales a chuckle. “Ah man- wait till you hear the other songs. The song after this one is one of my favorites,’’

Zoned out in a stare, I hear him ramble passionately about other bands and songs that make him feel good. It tugs at the heartstrings, to realize he was able to feel this type of joy despite everything else. It also gives me hope - there’s still a spark of light in him.

Unless he’s pretending.

I see Denny’s sign approach up ahead and I sigh on impulse, knowing deep down I don’t wanna leave him out of my sight, as if maybe the timeline has alternated and they’ve changed the date, maybe even doing it tomorrow. The anxiety comes conjoined with slight nausea as we pull up on the parking lot and he slows down to a full stop in one of the spots, closer to my motel than I’m comfortable with.

He leans forward to lower the volume. “Alright, your ride has reached its final destination,’’

Picking up on his banter, I snort and break out into a smile as I glance at him. His left arm is awkwardly resting by the window and his right hand is resting on his thigh, a content smirk stretching his lips.

I don’t find the mood or strength to be witty so I respond with a friendly smile. “Thank you for tonight, I had a good time.’’

He wets his lips. “Me too.’’ His lips stay parted as if he’s got more to say. “I got four hours of work tomorrow after school. You can stop by if you want, or maybe we can hang out after?’’ His eyes are intense as he sweeps his gaze over my face.

There’s no reason to say no. This is a good opportunity and I’ve got nothing to lose. “Sure. I’ll be home around 5:30.’’

“That’s cool- I got work until 7 so I’ll be here to pick you up around that time- let’s say 7:15?’’

I bite my lip to hide the smile caused by his determination. “It’s a plan!’’ I prepare to step out, gathering the snacks and myself. 

“So how long will you be staying at Denny’s?’’

I feel my face go pale, having to force a smile. “Ah, you know-’’ I shrug. “As long as the rats are off the property I’m all good.’’

He snorts, but there’s no amusement in his eyes. 

I sigh. “Here’s the thing- I’m a very private person, and…’’ I swallow to give myself a quick breather. “I’ll explain someday, I promise.’’

Again, he appears mistrusting, a muscle twitching in his jaw before he mellows. “That’s alright. I understand- take your time. Don’t feel any need to rush. I don’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable,’’

Holding the snacks close to my chest, our eyes lock together for a few seconds longer than either of us are prepared for and I’m the one to break away first. “It’s okay- I appreciate that, Eric. Thank you.’’

When I look at him again, his eyes are still on me and I hurry to open the door and step out before I get too nervous. I bend down to get another look at him. “Again- thank you for tonight and- oh!- for the snacks. I guess I can say see you tomorrow,’’

He smirks. “Yep, see you tomorrow. Dress warm- just a head’s up,’’

I tilt my head. “I am intrigued…?’’

The grin grows even wider. “Good!’’

“Good night, Eric.’’

“Good night, y/n.’’

I shut the door with a light thud, and as I start walking, I carefully watch him drive away out of the parking lot and onto the street. Not until I’m sure he’s gone around the corner and there’s no way he can see where I go, I start rushing towards the motel, clutching on to the stuff in my arms. The cold is crippling and when I finally get the door unlocked, I throw myself inside, dumping the snacks on the bed before I wrestle out of my jacket.

As I sit down on the chair, I can’t recall ever being this exhausted and mentally drained. I’ve been hiding behind a wall for the past two hours, and now, it’s flooding over with all kinds of impressions. The pressure over my chest grows thicker by the second until I feel like I can’t breathe anymore and without me understanding why, tears escape my eyes. 

I stand up, frantically rubbing my hands over my chest - I’m having a panic attack. I can’t fucking breathe. The gasping for air eventually turns into uncontrollable sobbing as I crawl onto the bed and crash down onto the mattress. I try my hardest to think of Kat. My best friend, her calming presence. But my thoughts shift, and all I see before me are the mental frames of the last two hours. Eric, in flesh and blood, driving us around town for such a simple thing as snacks. I try to settle myself into the normality of the situation - comfort myself by the fact that I do know someone now. I know Eric. He knows me. And from what I’ve come to realize, he’s not planning on changing that. 

I’m not alone.

The more my pounding heartbeat slows, the more I regain the ability to think clearly. I don’t remember when, but I eventually give in to the exhaustion and drift away.


End file.
